Fated
by vog08
Summary: This story takes place after Ennis' and Jack's last encounter. It's NOT a dead!Jack story and kind of canon and AU.All the characters belong to Annie Proulx. I make no money with this story.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The man behind him grunted and panted and Jack closed his eyes as the other man's prick pushed into his ass before Jack was prepared for it.

For a split second an image appeared in front of his eyes. The tent fly shimmering brownish in the dying light of the campfire, flapping lightly in the cold night wind of Wyoming, the ratty bedroll to which his cold hands clutched fearfully and yet eagerly and full of expectations, as Ennis took him.

As unexpected, as painful, and yet….

It had been Ennis who took his virginity, twenty years ago. The blonde taciturn cowboy with whom he herded sheep up on Brokeback Mountain.

A long time had passed. They had gotten old, nearly forty both of them, their lives run out. There was no future for them, Jack had understood this much after their last time together, and since then nothing was the way it seemed any longer.

He drank like a fish, passed days and nights in delirium, went to work – sometimes without knowing how to get through the day, and when he came home at night he couldn't remember what he had been doing all day long.

Today L.D. Newsome had kicked him out. For good. After 15 years he had finally made good on his threats, thrust a paycheck with a hefty settlement in his hand with a fervent wish: "Have a nice life, but have it somewhere else, you worthless sonavabitch."

Jack Twist took the check and the termination papers, and not until he was home did he see among the pile of papers the divorce documents hidden there. After half a bottle of whiskey he decided to sign those, too, and to pay a ransom for his life and obligations once and for all.

He grabbed his belongings, wrote a letter to Bobby, put it on his pillow together with the first belt buckle he ever won, took his son's baseball shirt in return, made a quick phone call and finally left the house in Texas where he had never been happy.

And now here he was, fifty miles away from Childress, at the cabin where they used to meet frequently for fishing, and he sensed the man behind him slowly but surely approaching his climax. Impassively, Jack let himself be fucked, one last time, before finally turning his back to the town and the state, and throwing himself into a future more uncertain than past and present had ever been.

A short moan, a squelching sound, and the man behind him had accomplished his mission. Relieved, Jack slumped on the worn-out mattress and buried his face in the musty pillow. During all this he hadn't even managed to get a hard-on, and he asked himself why the fuck he even had wanted to see him once more. Nostalgic feelings didn't suit him too well.

He heard the snapping of a lighter, but it lacked any romance, any adventure. It sounded hollow and cheap. He sighed in frustration.

"Watsup?" the man behind him asked and caressed his back awkwardly. Jack felt himself tense up under the touch. It disgusted him. HE disgusted him.

"Nothin'" he mumbled and turned away.

"You staying overnight?"

"Nope."

"Does Lureen know …?"

"Fuck no, whadda ya think? What kinda question is this, man? Not to mention that I signed the divorce papers today."

"Oh. And now?"

"Whut now? Whadaya think? I'm out a here."

"Where ya goin'? To your folks?"

"No idea. Away for a beginnin'."

"We gonna see each other again?"

"Guess not."

And Jack hated himself for how easily the words fell from his mouth. He knew the damage they could do. They had haunted him for twenty years, and here he was, pronouncing them himself. In a cold and merciless way. Destroying a life as his had been destroyed, and he asked himself what Ennis might have felt then.

He sat up with difficulty. He felt older than he was, dressed with slow movements without deigning to look at the man behind him, took his bag and tossed the second key onto the now empty and cold half of the bed.

"Bye, man. You'll hear from me," he mumbled and turned around to leave.

"Jack….. Jack, wait," the man called behind him, and the pleading sound of his voice gave him goosepimples. He turned halfway and threw a quick glance to the naked figure on the bed.

"Take care a yerself," the one left behind said hesitantly, and for a split second Jack felt regret flaring up.

"You too," he answered quietly, and with a firm click the door locked behind him.

Randall Malone watched through the cloudy window glass as Jack Twist disappeared out of his life and he knew he would never see him again.

Jack got into his pick-up. Brand new model. Fucking expensive, but L. D. wanted his employees to make a good impression when they were looking for customers, so all sales people drove a phat car. Main thing was to keep up the appearance.

Jack laughed bitterly as he turned the key in the lock and the engine started to purr. L.D. hadn't asked about the truck – and now it was too late. Too late.

With fierce enjoyment he pushed the accelerator as far as it would go and spun his wheels as he pulled away. Little pebbles rattled against the underbody and gave Jack this last adrenaline kick.

With the engine roaring he whipped the truck along deserted country roads, drove like a madman into narrow curves and tortured the engine with ruthless joy to the limit of its performance.

The truck was his now. And only his.

"_Trailers for sale or rent  
Rooms to let...fifty cents.  
No phone, no pool, no pets  
I ain't got no cigarettes  
Ah, but..two hours of pushin' broom  
Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room  
I'm a man of means by no means  
King of the road."_

He laughed wildly. "Fuck you, L.D." he roared and opened the window on the driver's side. Cold evening breeze cooled his cheeks.

This was insanity, this all was madness.

He felt around in his glove box for the flask, opened the bottle top with his teeth and spit it carelessly on the floor. He wouldn't need it anymore.

The entire contents slid down like oil, burned his stomach and left a warm feeling. The only warm and fuzzy spot in his body. A slight glow left over from better times.

Times when he didn't drink alone but shared the bottle at the campfire with the man who had stirred him to life a long time ago and who had sent him back to his personal hell not so long ago.

"Fuck you, Ennis", he mumbled, all of a sudden sober despite his foggy senses, and a glazed wall of unshed tears took away his vision for a short time.

And this was enough to give a hand to fate.

There was an ear-shattering bang as the chrome-shiny truck drove at full speed over a pointed piece of rock on the road. The tiny moment of alcoholic disorientation was enough to send the truck into a skid and off the track.

At the last moment and in a second of total self-control Jack wrestled with the steering wheel and so avoided the worst. The brand new truck scraped squealing and shrieking along the guardrail for several hundred yards before it came to a stop.

Not a sound was to be heard over the scenery.

"Fucking shit," Jack muttered, and with shaky legs he climbed out of the damaged truck. "Shit, shit, fucking shit," he cursed loudly, walking around the truck and following with his eyes the scraped off paint along the guardrail. For yards.

Pokily, as if in slow motion, he turned his head to look at L.D.'s pride and joy. The right side of the truck was scratched and torn open like a flesh wound before him, and for a short moment he was seized by self pity.

Not even for 24 hours had he been the owner of a brand new and untouched truck – could call himself owner and feast upon L.D.'s negligence.

Not even one entire day had to go by without the shadow of the loathsome man gaining on him.

"You goddamn asshole!" he roared into the emptiness – suddenly frustrated to the core – asking himself for a tiny moment whom he had meant to address.

With trudging steps he moved towards the toolbox and took out the tire iron. The left front tire was flat. He had to change it before he could continue his trip to nowhere.

Mumbling silently and quarrelling with his fate, he unscrewed the big heavy lug nuts. The urge for a full-flavored sip of whiskey grew stronger and stronger. Sweat ran down his forehead in little rivulets and clouded his sight again.

The twilight had descended when Jack finally had unscrewed all the nuts and started to pull and tug on the heavy tire with his remaining force. But it didn't move an inch. No matter how hard he tried, the tire was stuck in place.

Frustrated and breathless he collapsed onto the grass and closed his eyes. Evening mist descended upon the deserted back roads all over Texas and the cool dampness soaked his clothes.

He must have fallen asleep, because in his thoughts he suddenly saw Ennis laughing quietly. "Jack fuckin' Twist", and his gentle face with the tender brown eyes that Jack loved so much was looking at him, and the more Jack stared at it the more it changed and became bigger and got flabby cheeks and he heard L.D.'s voice: "You fucked-up rodeo cowboy, you were never no good." And his taunting laughter roused him from his sleep.

He sat up, groaning, becoming vaguely aware of the oncoming headache that started to spread slowly but steadily between his eyes. With stiff legs Jack got up and took the tire iron again, tapped on the metal, giving the nuts a slight jolt.

Nothing. Nothing at all happened.

And like a bolt of lightning lights up the night sky, so an uncontrollable sudden fit of rage flashed through Jack's body and replaced the quiet frustration with a fierce howling that cut the silence of the night.

Wielding the tire iron, he took a big swing and let it fly into the half-flat tire with the strength of the desperate.

Jack didn't hear the hiss that followed. The force of the blowback hit him unprepared and vaulted him in a wide arc onto the dewy and sweet-smelling grass.

Brown earth turned red, as his head hit on a flat rock, knocking him unconscious.

And his last thought was that life could sometimes assume ironic features. The bitter laugh deep down in his throat couldn't find its way out any more.

Darkness surrounded him and embraced him in deep peace, as the lights of a truck cut the dark in the distance.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2, part 1 

There was cold fog hanging over the mountains as Ennis del Mar stepped out of his pick-up. The air smelled mouldy and like wet mud. Autumn was passing into winter and the wind carried the heavy smell of rain over the heights down to the valleys.

The parking lot was deserted. Some lonely paper scraps swirled over the gravel and they framed the unreal silence with a soft rustle.

Ennis shivered and he drew his shabby coat tighter around his lanky body. With a click he lit his cigarette. He inhaled the smoke deeply, felt it creep down his tiniest bronchial tubes and savored the spicy flavor on his tongue.

Restlessly he squinted up to the sky. He didn't wear a watch – never had except for the few weeks on Brokeback twenty years ago. What for – his life passed monotonously and in a steady circle of sameness, only interrupted by the infrequent meetings with his daughters, and the long-craved days with Jack, the only escape he allowed himself in his life.

The leaden sun slanted down the sky and in Ennis' sense of time he had been here in the parking lot for an eternity. Again and again he took out the card where he had marked their meeting point, and again and again he wondered if he had told Jack the right date on his last postcard.

"_Jack.  
How about November 7 for you?  
I can meet you at Pine Creek.  
Ennis del Mar."_

It took a lot of will power on his part to write that card – not knowing if they would ever manage to meet up again.

But sending cards was also part of a routine from which Ennis del Mar couldn't easily depart after twenty years.

An so he had written it.

And never got an answer.

He had gone there anyway. He had always gone there. Hoping doggedly that Jack would be waiting for him at the meeting point – sitting at the campfire, greeting him with a smile. And he had. For twenty years. Like the clockwork of a watch Ennis wasn't carrying on his wrist but in his heart.

But he wasn't here today. Today Ennis arrived first at the meeting point.

And he waited.

He waited for hours.

Smoked one cigarette after the other.

He paced up and down the parking lot to warm up and to chase the damp cold that had settled in his clothes while he waited.

He sat in his pick-up as a light drizzle set in. Turned on the windshield wipers to have a clear view onto the godforsaken parking area.

Rolled down the window so as not to miss one single sound from outside.

Cursed the rain crackling loudly on the leaves and disturbing his sense of hearing.

The gloomy day changed into an unpleasant evening. Ennis was hungry. He was often hungry, had rarely enough money and even more rarely the energy to fix regular warm meals for himself. No meal is good when you eat alone.

Jack had been responsible for the food. But he was not here. Not yet.

And the hunger persisted in his stomach. Gnawing at his guts – as did the concern which started to rise slowly in him. Concern that Jack might not show.

For the first time in twenty years.

And the evening gave way to a cold night. Ennis took out his sleeping bag, shivering, and he snuggled up in the protecting blanket. Sniffing at it, imagining that he could catch an echo of Jack's scent. All of a sudden fear gripped him. From behind and when he was unprepared for it.

He glanced blindly into the dark night sky. There were no stars, the moon covered by clouds. It was as if life outside the pick-up had turned away from Ennis del Mar.

And during the hours between being half asleep and awake the certainty took shape in him that Jack Twist would not show up at this meeting.

The regular routine had been interrupted. For the first time in twenty years.

When Ennis del Mar came back to his shabby trailer two days later he was changed. The waiting had worn him out.

He hadn't gone back home immediately the next morning. Not even at noon, not in the afternoon.

He endured.

Hoping where there was no hope left.

But he couldn't leave. He couldn't make up his mind to the fact that Jack Twist would not be arriving any more. That there would be no meeting this time, no reunion after long lonely months and an empty feeling of grief that had remained in the life of Ennis del Mar like a bad taste after the last meeting and the final quarrel.

That's why he stayed.

Not standing what he couldn't fix.

As he looked into a foggy morning after another starless night, the hunger having given place to a dumb pressure in his guts and the cold having numbed his feet, his resistance broke.

Full of sorrow and the disturbing feeling of having fallen out of life, he put the key in the lock with hands shivering from cold. The pick-up obeyed, stuttering and bucking, and began to move – as if it was asking the driver if he was really serious about this. About wanting to abandon the listening post on Pine Creek.

Ennis went through the motions of driving over rough tracks. His tired bones ached with every bump but he didn't notice.

As he arrived late in the evening to the bleak driveway in front of his trailer after long hours of monotonous driving, an early winter had crept in.

The first snowflakes fell silently on Ennis del Mar's hot forehead as he schlepped his body into his trailer, gathering his last strength.

Too tired to eat, too exhausted to undress, he fell into a restless sleep that changed seamlessly into a feverish delirium, cutting off Ennis del Mar from life for many, many days.

His body fought where his spirit had long given up.

The futile wait for Jack and the many hours spent between hope and fear in the deep loneliness of Wyoming had broken him. For the first time in twenty years the mountains did not grant him shelter.

No escape to a secret Eden for two.

Without Jack the heights were gloomy and ominous. Without Jack he looked upon a dying land where there used to be colors and smells promising vibrant life.

Without Jack climbing into the treetops was a hazard and diving into cold mountain streams a risk.

Jack's absence had snatched away the foundation of his being, stolen his sense of existence. Without Jack his mind did not know where to go, his feelings had no ground and his heart no direction in which to beat.

His soul was dying while his body fought to survive.

Fierce fever convulsions alternated with unbearable chills where he bit his lips to draw blood. Long periods of unconsciousness followed short waking moments where he saw Jack's face before his eyes and where he called the man, as he turned away from him.

Days and nights passed. Sun and moon appeared for the changing of the guard while the winter arrived, covering the loneliness with a cotton-like white layer.

And as his body gained the victory over his soul after many days, Ennis understood for the first time the words which had floated around him in his fever again and again, but which he never had organized and the content of which he could not grasp.

It was the voice of his daughter whispering softly in his ear:

"_Daddy.. Daddy…you have to get better. Jack needs you. He needs you. Please get better.. please, you have to heal."_

Softly as a gentle spring wind these words floated through his body and chased away the last hints of the fatal pneumonia he had brought from Pine Creek.

"_Jack needs you. He needs you."_

It was those two sentences that brought hope to his soul and a direction to his life.

And so one evening at the end of November he opened his eyes and looked into those of his daughter who watched him anxiously.

"Hi, Daddy", she said with her soft voice, and a happy smile covered her little face.

"Junior," Ennis grated with a strained voice. "What .. what happened?"

"You were very sick, Daddy.. very, very sick… I was so worried about you…"

Her voice broke and it cut Ennis to the quick. He took Junior's hand with a feeble grip.

"I'm so sorry, little darlin'…," he whispered.

"No need to be sorry, Daddy. Nobody's fault if ya get sick. You shouldn't have waited for Jack for so long. He…he couldn't come…"

Ennis gaze snapped up. "Whut?…. whutya sayin' there?" he asked with an uneasy voice.

"He had an accident, Dad. He's at the hospital in Childress. Has been for many weeks now. He hasn't regained consciousness…"

"How … how d'ya know?" Ennis asked with eyes wide open from fear, and he clung to his daughter's hand.

"You called him, Daddy. Again and again," she said with a tearful voice. "I.. I had to find out where he was. Thought I might give'em a call and tell'em you were sick. Hoped he might get here and make you better. Talked to his ex-wife. It's her who told me everything."

"Shit…" Ennis mumbled, and Junior saw that it was difficult for him to handle what he had just heard.

She bent over him softly and wiped his sweaty hair off his forehead. "Get well, Daddy, and go see him. Doctors say that.. that it might help havin' people around him who… who.. love .. him…"

"Junior," Ennis whispered, bewildered, and stared with pale face shocked at his daughter "Whut… whut'ya sayin' there?"

Junior looked at her father with a sad smile.

"You called him, Daddy. Broke my heart. I always wondered why ya were so terribly sad when Jack drove away after havin' come ta see ya shortly after yer divorce. I never understood – up until a few days ago. It's ok, Daddy. It's ok…." she whispered, looking into the petrified face of her father.

"It's ok…" 

And Junior's words were the echo of Jack's voice sounding finally after twenty years from Brokeback to him down on the plain.

Tears ran unnoticed down his cheeks as he looked into Junior's eyes, so similar to his. And he held her hand and she held his until he fell asleep.

Deep and quiet.

It took Ennis another week to be strong enough to start on the long journey to Texas.

And as it turned out, Junior had inherited her father's obstinacy and stubbornness. She insisted on driving with her father, to accompany him to make sure that he took his pills regularly, that he ate and drank.

As Ennis wanted to reject her offer, she forced him to look in the mirror, she showed him his peaked figure and his sunken cheeks, and she made it unmistakably clear that in his condition he would not be able to bear a long trip on his own.

And since Junior carried her point it happened that Curt, her boyfriend, joined the trek down south, too, and offered to be the driver. And Ennis gave in. Not only because he really still felt very weak, the urge to see Jack and to know about his state of health overpowering him, the longer he was up and conscious.

No, also because he had realized in the last few days that his little girl, his beloved daughter, had grown up. Again and again he caught himself thoughtfully following her movements with his still weary eyes. He saw that her body had lost its boy-like innocence, and that under her clothes hid an attractive young woman, so much wiser than himself despite her youth.

Ennis and Junior did not talk about Jack again during the following days, and not after that. It seemed as if all words had been said between them that had had to be said. And what was not explicable with words was bridged over by their hearts.

And for the first time in his life Ennis accepted the immutable facts. He had been sussed. His life and the lie of his life had been laid bare – and nobody was there to judge him. Nobody to accuse him, nobody to slander him.

On the contrary. Both his daughters did all possible to set Ennis up again, and finally, on St. Nicholas Day 1983 he was able to travel to Childress to see Jack.

The drive was monotonous.

Ennis was quiet most of the time and looked out of the window where landscapes passed him by which he only knew from television or Jack's vivid tales.

Mile after mile the wheels clattered over asphalt and ploughed their way through the endless plains of the country.

Rolling plains were followed bare plains. Cities interrupted endless loneliness.

And while they crossed one state after the other and minutes changed to hours of monotony, only one thought accompanied Ennis. It was the admission of guilt that he had expected Jack to put up with this long, tough drive. Again and again. Year in, year out.

And with a stinging pain he remembered the day, many years ago, that Jack had been allowed just a few minutes of rest before getting back on that long road to make the grim journey from Wyoming back to Texas.

Sent away by Ennis who did not want to comprehend and did not want to understand.

Snow changed to rain, and the farther they drove into the unknown South the warmer the weather became, until finally a sapphire blue sky stretched over them.

And then Ennis knew they had arrived.

The hospital in Childress was a tiny, plain building on the outskirts of town. Not the right surroundings for the never-ever-tired and always-lively Jack, so Ennis thought absentmindedly as he entered the hall behind Junior and Curt.

The smell of disinfectant rushed to his nose and caused nausea as he vaguely heard Junior asking for Jack Twist's room and presenting Ennis as his brother and herself and Curt then as Jack's niece and nephew.

He watched, amazed at how self-assured and composed his daughter was moving in this different setting. Where he made step after step stiffly and uncertainly, she had long since staked the terrain for herself – and her father.

Obediently he followed his daughter and her friend, and it seemed more and more to him that he and Junior had changed roles. That he gave up his part of protective father to put himself into the organizing hands of his daughter who helped him get his life in order.

With every step that took him nearer to Jack he became more anxious. Furtively he wiped his damp hands on his trousers, nibbled his thumb as if seeking security, and as they finally stood in front of the white door behind which Jack lay, he felt all color leave his face .

As if he was in a trance he sensed Junior taking off his hat and placing it in his numb hand, not registering the encouraging words she whispered, as he pressed the door handle and pushed open the heavy door.

The room was in twilight. The window blinds were down to block out the low-slanting sun which would blind the patient.

And there he lay.

A pale, narrow figure. Black hair like a dark mourning ring on the bright white pillow. The face gaunt. Dark stubble adorning his cheeks, although they had shaved the moustache. Outwardly Jack's injuries could not be seen, and only the bleeping of the monitoringmachines to which Jack was still attached was a reminder that the quiet figure in bed was not sleeping, but in a deep unconscious state that shut out the world around it.

Junior heard her father breathe in sharply, and from the corner of her eyes she saw him stagger. She gripped him strongly and led him slowly to the bed, to the man whom she had seen only for a split second many years ago, whose endlessly blue eyes and radiating smile she had nonetheless never forgotten.

So that was him. That was Jack Twist. The man whom her father had called so desperately and for whom he had been waiting for two days and two nights in the godforsaken wilderness of Pine Creek. He must be a special man, being able to animate her usually calm and composed father to such deeds and plunge him into such despair.

She didn't know much about him, and she did not know the story that bound her father and Jack Twist.

But she saw in her father's eyes that it had been the right decision to take the journey to Texas.

Softly she took her father's hand and followed his yearning yet scared glance and she looked into the harmonious face of Jack, saw the thick eyebrows and the long lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. She saw the even nose with the little kink in the middle where it probably had been broken once and looked at the quiet, serious mouth which had smiled at her so vividly so many years ago.

"Daddy, say hi to him," Junior whispered to her father, and she felt him twitch at her words.

"He doesn't know you're here. Talk to him. Take his hand…" she whispered, and was afraid to break the spell that all of a sudden descended over her father.

Carefully she dropped her father's hand and took a step back, into the embrace of her boyfriend Curt who watched wonderingly the scene unfolding now in front of his eyes.

Ennis stared at the man before him and could not believe what he saw. He was Jack – and yet he wasn't. He looked like Jack – but that was all.

The immobile stillness with which Jack welcomed him was weird to Ennis. His mind understood that Jack couldn't be different, that his body and soul were prisoners in the spiral of unconsciousness and that he needed help to get out of it.

But his heart screamed for the lively, positive man, wanted to shake the person on the pillow and shout at him to stop that play-acting and give up that game. He, Ennis, had understood.

He had understood.

Slowly Ennis moved towards the bed, unsure what to do next. Vaguely he heard his daughter talk to him, inviting him to say hello to Jack, and absentmindedly he thought that it had always been Jack who welcomed him and who waited for him.

It became all of a sudden clear to Ennis that in all those years only once had he taken the first step to welcome Jack in his life.

And that had been on the grey steps to the apartment above the laundry, as Jack stepped into his life after four years, closing a wound that had been bleeding achingly since their parting at the foot of Brokeback Mountain.

It was high time to do it again.

Carefully, hesitantly, almost fearfully he took the lifeless hand on the pillow and closed his big, warm fingers around it.

And in this very moment he felt the well-known spark flying between them. As a bond formed between him and Jack that had outlasted decades and survived long, bitter months of separation. A bodily contact that carved a channel to his heart and merged together what belonged together.

Deep quiet took hold of Ennis as he leaned slightly forward and whispered oh so softly in Jack's ear.

"Little darlin'… I'm here."


End file.
